


She's Got A Way

by Miss_Six



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2019-07-10 01:37:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15939086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Six/pseuds/Miss_Six
Summary: “Yeah, uh...My name’s Scott, I called about your ad?” He’d been skeptical when he flipped to the classifieds in the free neighborhood paper, but ecstatic to find “Pianist wanted, weekends, must be good with drunk people”. As it turns out, he was, and he was. “About needing a piano player?”[or]The PianoMan!Scott/Bar AU fic that at least a few of you asked for





	1. Take a sad song, and make it better

**Author's Note:**

> Anybody remember a couple of months back when Aljona was all "video ban? hold my wine" and we got like three blurry seconds of Scott sitting at a piano? I was inspired, and ended up tweeting out a much abbreviated fic. And then I couldn't stop thinking about it, because Scott playing the piano? YES PLEASE. And here we are. I hope it doesn't disappoint!
> 
> Huge shoutout to my Toi, Moi, Elle, et Lui co-authors for cheerleading me through this and helping when I was stuck and just generally being great.

Scott Moir considers himself something of a dive bar connoisseur, and Le Mal Nécessaire is definitely a dive bar, if a remarkably well-kept one. It was easy enough to find, a squat, two story brick building in the middle of a Montreal neighborhood that seemed a little rough around the edges but not dangerous. “LE MAL NÉCESSAIRE” is neatly hand-stenciled on the awning in large white letters and neon beer signs hang in the windows - whose frames, Scott can see, have been freshly painted. 

The door sticks a bit when he pulls it open to enter, and as he yanks on the handle a tinny-sounding bell signals his arrival. It’s 3pm on a Tuesday and the only people present are a couple of middle aged men seated on stools at the bar. The bar counter makes a large L, and Scott’s eyes follow it across the front, through a half wall divider and around a corner before tracking back and spying the back of an upright piano over the half wall.  _ I hope that thing is tuned,  _ he thinks to himself, wincing at the instrument’s proximity to the door.

One of the middle aged gentlemen turns away from his beer to eye Scott and his beat-up leather jacket and jeans with suspicion and a hint of intrigue. “Patch,” he calls out, “There’s someone new out here.” 

Around the corner walks a tall man with the most peaceful countenance of any bartender Scott’s ever met. “Can I help you?” 

“Yeah, uh...My name’s Scott, I called about your ad?” He’d been skeptical when he flipped to the classifieds in the free neighborhood paper, but ecstatic to find “Pianist wanted, weekends, must be good with drunk people”. As it turns out, he was, and he was. “About needing a piano player?”

“Ah yes, I’m Patch. We spoke on the phone.” Exiting the back of the bar, he extends a hand to Scott. “You said you have played in bars before?”

“Yes!” Scott says with perhaps a bit too much enthusiasm as he shakes Patch’s hand. “I, uh, actually got started performing in bars.”

“Ah, c’est parfait!” Patch says, obviously pleased by that information and possibly relieved. “So you are familiar with the...difficulties.”

A nervous laugh emanates from Scott’s throat, and it takes him a second to realize it came from him. “I’m used to wrangling drunk patrons,” he explains to a quizzical Patch, who quirks an eyebrow. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Then you should have no trouble,” Patch says evenly. “May I hear you play?”

“Oh, yes, of course!” He follows Patch around the half wall to where the piano sits slightly elevated on a small stage. “Is there anything in particular you want to hear? An artist, a genre?”

Another quirked eyebrow. “You know them all?”

“No, not all of them,” Scott admits with a laugh. “But I’ve got a good ear, and I can usually pick something like it if I don’t know a song.” 

“Also good,” Patch says, taking a chair from a nearby table and seating himself on the stage where he can see over the divider. “What would you prefer to play?”

From the other side of the half wall, an irritated sounding voice yells “Tell the kid to play some Elton John!”

Patch looks over in amusement, then back at Scott. “Can you?”

“I sure as hell can.” Sitting down on the well-worn bench, Scott lifts the lid on the keys and plays a few random chords, just to see if it’s tuned. Not only is it tuned, but the tone and resonance are better than Scott was expecting-clearly someone here knows how to take care of a piano. Quickly he plays some short scales to get a better feel for the instrument, then flows into the opening chords of “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road”. 

Scott hadn’t intended to sing, since neither Patch nor the ad had mentioned it, but instantly he snaps back into frontman mode and hits the vocals right on cue.

“When are you gonna come down? When are you going to land?” he begins wistfully, and if he’s borrowing a little of his own melancholy no one needs to know. “I should have stayed on the farm, I should have listened to my old man...”

Seated at a piano has always been where Scott feels the most comfortable, so he closes his eyes and lets himself slip a little deeper into the music when he gets to the chorus. “ So goodbye yellow brick road, where the dogs of society howl,” he sings, and it sounds like a condemnation but it feels like failure. “You can't plant me in your penthouse, I'm going back to my plough…” He also hadn’t intended to play the entire piece, but before he realizes what happened his fingers have stilled on the keyboard and he can hear the last notes he played hanging in the air. 

A loud burst of applause from the other side of the divider jolts him back to reality, where he can only guess that it’s the two middle aged gentlemen giving him their approval. Scott takes a deep breath and turns back to Patch, who is regarding him with a pleased smile.

“That was very good, I didn’t know you can sing as well. We have a microphone we can set up for you.” He stands, and Scott follows suit. “I’m afraid we can only pay $50 per night, but our patrons are very good tippers if they like the music.” He nods in the direction of the two gentlemen at the bar. “And it sounds as though they like the music.”

“Well, if your patrons like Elton John, there’s plenty of that in my repertoire,” Scott says with a grin. “Elton John, Billy Joel, some Beatles...that’s what I can play from memory, but I can usually work songs out by ear if I know it.” He shrugs. “I’m used to hustling for tips.”

“Then you are hired,” Patch says, extending his hand again to shake Scott’s. “Are you available on Friday?”

“I am!” Scott almost shouts in the older man’s face. “Thank you so much, sir. I really needed this.”

“Please, call me Patch,” he says, gently tugging his hand back until Scott finally realizes what he’s doing and releases it. “See you on Friday.”

 

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_

 

By Sunday Scott is $300 richer and completely exhausted. So exhausted that when he wakes to the sound of his phone buzzing on the dresser, he’s out of bed and facedown on the floor before he realizes his pants are still half on, bunched around his ankles.

The phone stops ringing before he can disentangle himself from his jeans, and when he picks it up he’s greeted by his lockscreen displaying the time - 1:04pm - and a notification informing him he’s missed three calls and a text message from Mom.  _ Scottie are you okay? _

“Shit,” he swears under his breath as he calls his mother back, rubbing his cheek where it had hit the carpeted floor. Alma Moir was a loving and devoted mother who had raised three boys into respectable men, which meant she was to be feared and respected in equal measures. In all honesty, Scott was surprised some special forces team hadn’t busted down the door to his rented room, even if she didn’t know where exactly he was. If anyone could find him, it’d be his mother.

The phone didn’t even ring on his end before she answered it. “Oh, Scottie, don’t do that to me!”

“Sorry, ma, it was just a late night,” he says, swallowing a yawn and stretching. “I left my phone on vibrate and just woke up, I didn’t mean to worry you.” 

“Just because you’re a rock star now doesn’t mean you need to start living like one,” his mother chides him. “Did you have a show last night?”

“Something like that, yeah,” he says, and it’s not  _ technically _ a lie but he still feels a jab of guilt. “Just a smaller thing. And I’m not a rock star, so you don’t have to worry about me living like one.”

“Maybe not, but you’re having success doing what you love, which is the important thing,” she says, and the jab of guilt becomes a full grown pang. “I just hope you keep taking your mother’s calls.”

Scott laughs as he searches through his t-shirt drawer for something clean that doesn’t have a Leafs logo on it. “I don’t care how famous I get, I’ll always have time for you, ma,” he says, tossing a fresh shirt and underwear on the bed. “Besides, Charlie and Danny would come smack some sense into me pretty quick.”

“I’m not saying they wouldn’t,” Alma replies sweetly. “You should give them a call, everyone’s been asking about you.”

“Sure, ma,” Scott says, and THAT is an unequivocal lie. The three of them had joined forces to cover for each other’s tells and nervous tics in front of their parents as children, but that meant as adults they all knew when the other wasn’t being completely honest - and if his brothers found even the tiniest crack in his story, the jig was up. “I’ll try to call later this week, if things don’t get too chaotic.”

“All right, Scottie. I’ll let you go, you still sound tired.” Scott tilts his head back to stare at the ceiling and wonder what’s bigger than a “pang”. “Get some rest, I love you.”

“I love you too,” he says. “Bye, ma.”

Tossing the phone on the bed, he gets dressed and reaches for the neighborhood paper. Maybe lightning will strike twice for him.

 

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

 

The next Friday is much like the first one. Scott plays, works the room a little, takes some requests and deals with a couple of hecklers. One of the hecklers approaches him again while he’s on break, and Scott watches him with a wary eye. 

“I don’t like what you play,” the guy says, and Scott can see him swaying ever so slightly. “Don’t you know any good music?”

The guy’s not much bigger than him, and a lot older, but that’s besides the point. Scott’s only been in two actual bar fights in his life - he didn’t start either, but he sure as hell finished them - and it’s not something he wants to get in the habit of. He’s trying to think of something to say that will defuse the situation when someone taps the music critic on the shoulder.

The critic spins around belligerently to confront whomever has interrupted his unpleasant display, only to find himself facing a black t-shirt clad chest. He has to look up to make eye contact, which he does so he can glare up at the interloper, although his bluster may have dimmed a bit.

“Martin,” the man in the black t-shirt says calmly. “You’re not getting ready to cause a scene, are you?”

Scott could swear he sees steam rising off the top of the man’s balding head. “ _ No, _ ” Martin grinds out.

“Good, because if you do, I’ll have to escort you out of here again.” He says nothing else, simply stares down at Martin until the other man gets the hint and walks away.

The tall man in the black shirt sits in the other chair at the small table Scott’s sitting at and gives him a sheepish grin. “Don’t worry about Martin. He’s all bark, no bite. We just have to tell him to calm down every once in a while before he picks a fight with the wrong person.” He reaches a lanky arm over the table. “I’m Andrew.”

“Scott, good to meet you,” he says, shaking the offered hand. “You work here?”

Andrew shakes his head with a smile. “Nah, but my girlfriend does. Kaitlyn,” he says, pointing to a pretty blonde cocktail waitress. “I just like to come hang out while she’s working, make sure the creeps leave the girls alone.”

“And me, apparently,” Scott laughs, finishing off his basket of fries. “I appreciate it, man.”

“No problem. Martin won’t bother you for the rest of the night, though. It’s like he just has to get furious and then everything’s great.” Scott looks over to where Martin is standing at the bar, and sure enough he’s laughing with a couple of guys like nothing happened. “Anyway. Great music, man. I’ll see you around.” 

“See you around,” Scott says.  _ This bar just keeps getting better. _

 

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

 

On Saturday, Scott walks in at 6pm, throws a wave and a smile at Patch, and promptly freezes as he notices that the person behind the bar that he is waving at is too short to be Patch. Upon closer inspection, the person he is smiling and waving at is a dark-haired woman who does not seem amused by the situation at all.

“Who the hell are you?” definitely-not-Patch asks, with a tone that suggests she’s about to get some kind of weapon from behind the counter. 

Instinctively Scott holds his hands up to show he’s unarmed, but she keeps staring him down with impossibly green eyes. “Uh, I’m the piano player? Scott?” 

She looks him up and down for another moment, then says “Oh” and walks away, leaving Scott baffled and - if he’s being honest with himself - burning with curiosity.

Scott doesn’t see her for a while after that, nor does he see Patch; the only bartender covering both sides of the bar is Patrick until it starts picking up, and then the mystery brunette comes back out to cover the front. He catches sight of her every time she walks to the end of the bar that crosses the divider, but she’s not looking at him. At all. 

“The minute you let her under your skin, then you begin to make it better,” Scott croons in his best Paul McCartney, and he is in no way embarrassed to admit that he’s trying to get his mystery woman’s attention. She had to like the Beatles, right? Everybody likes the Beatles. Scott even manages to get a good portion of the bar to sing the na-na-na-nas at the end. She doesn’t so much as glance at him. 

Although to be fair...she’s doing things up there with shakers and tumblers and bottles that could probably kill a grown man if anything went wrong. At one point she balances three shot glasses on her forearm, measures perfect shots into them pouring from three bottles she’s holding  _ in the same hand _ , and then sets them  **_on fire_ ** before presenting them to the three women who ordered them.

Andrew is there again, and Scott beckons him over on his first break. “Hey man, how’s it going?” 

“Tonight’s been great so far,” Scott says. “Hey, can I ask you a question?”

“Is it about what I do for a living? Because I hate answering that question.”

“No, no,” Scott laughs. “You can tell me about that later if you want. I was wondering who the brunette behind the bar is. I haven’t met her yet.”

“She didn’t introduce herself, did she?” Andrew asks, chuckling a little when Scott shakes his head ruefully. “I’m not surprised, I guess she’s not fond of musicians. That’s Tessa, the bar manager. She was on vacation when you started.”

“Why doesn’t she like musicians?” Scott asks, already feeling his stomach sink.

“Well, to be fair, she comes off like she doesn’t like anyone. It takes her a while to warm up to people.” Andrew shrugs. “But some of the guys that come through here are just garbage. Don’t play half the night, rude to the staff and the customers, spend all their time drinking free booze and hitting on her.”

“Oh, I know those guys.” Scott sips on his beer thoughtfully. “Do you know if she’s seeing anyone?”

“Forget about it,” Andrew says. “Maybe in a couple of weeks she’ll say hello to you, if you’re lucky. But she makes a policy of not dating the talent.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Scott says. “For me, at least.”

It’s a busy Saturday night, and the bar isn’t packed but it’s close, so Scott sticks to crowd pleasers and faster paced numbers until midnight, when people start slowly trickling out. Scott prefers to play slower pieces towards the end of the night; he’s found that it seems to cut down on incidents of drunken stupidity. At least the angry ones...he’s seen more than a few people start sobbing and pulling out cell phones. He can only hope he’s responsible for more reconciliations than breakups.

It’s about half an hour to last call, and Scott’s about to hit the first chorus in “She’s Always A Woman” when he notices that Tessa is standing at his end of the bar, watching him play. “Oh, she takes care of herself, she can wait if she wants, she's ahead of her time,” he sings, and he knows she’s looking right at him so he turns his head to make eye contact for the next couple of lines. “Oh, she never gives out and she never gives in, she just changes her mind...”

Tessa rolls her eyes and walks away, leaving Scott feeling strangely exhilarated to have caught her attention just for a moment, and he can’t help the faint smile on his lips as he finishes out the song. “And the most she will do is throw shadows at you, but she's always a woman to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh whaaaaaat? Who even IS this Tessa? What is Scott lying about? What DOES Poje do!??!? Stay tuned!
> 
> Songs featured:
> 
> Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, Elton John  
> Hey Jude, The Beatles  
> She's Always A Woman, Billy Joel
> 
> Yell at me on Twitter, @MissSixFics!
> 
> (Outside the Box has not been abandoned! I've had writers block for literally months, and this is what finally got me out of it so I'm rolling with it. Ideally I'll be alternating chapters, but I make no promises.)


	2. Never seen you looking so lovely as you did tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, and Scott?”
> 
> He stops like he’s been yanked backward. “Yeah?”
> 
> “Don’t call me Tessa,” she says. “Only my mother calls me that. Tess is fine.”
> 
> There’s that smile again. “Sure, Tess,” he says, and she tries to ignore how hearing her name across his lips makes her feel...things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again my TMEL girls have gotten me through when I'm convinced my writing is a mess. Love you ladies!

As if it wasn’t enough that Tessa had to use half her vacation days to visit her family, who (with the exception of her sister, whose wedding had necessitated the visit) spent all their time hassling her about her tattoos, her hair color, her career, and just about any other decision she’d made for herself—no, Patch had had to go and hire another musician while she was gone, and he didn’t even give her the courtesy of a warning before the guy came walking in like he owned the place.

“He’s not that bad,” Chiddy says as Tessa is furiously moving racks of clean glasses in the back. “I mean, actually he’s really good. He plays most of the night, and he only has a few beers the whole time. Plus he insists on tipping.”

“Oh, he _tips_ ? Well why didn’t you say that before?” she grumbles sarcastically. “ _Obviously_ he can’t _possibly_ cause problems if he _tips!”_

Chiddy doesn’t respond, only watches her stalk back and forth, drinkware clattering as she stacks each rack with just enough force to make her point but not enough to actually break any. Finally she takes a step back and notices his furrowed brow. “Are you okay? Do you need another night? I can call Patch.”

Tessa sighs. “No, you don’t have to call Patch. I’ll suck it up. Just don’t expect me to babysit him when he starts getting bored with the place.”

“I really don’t think you need to worry about that, Tess,” Chiddy reassures her, then sighs at her expression of disbelief. “Fine. If he starts being a pain, I’ve got it. Or I could always have Andrew toss him out?”

The offer finally cracks Tessa’s determination to stay angry, and a tiny smile tugs at her lips. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. He has to start a fight first, that’s the rule. Now go do something helpful before the rush starts,” she chides, shooing him off with her hands. He obliges with a grin, heading back out to check on the handful of regulars already seated at the bar.

She can hear him playing already, which is surprising since there’s about nine people in the bar at the moment. The previous piano player wouldn’t play unless there were at least twenty people in the building - which meant he was in her hair getting sauced until around 8. It sounds like a classical piece, which is surprise #2: from the brief interaction she’d had with him, she hadn’t pegged him as the type.

Just then Chiddy walks into the back. “I want to grab another rack or two of glasses before it starts getting busy. He’s good, right?” he says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder to indicate he’s talking about the new piano player.

“I’ll give you that,” she says to Chiddy with no small measure of reluctance. “Just don’t expect me to like him.”

“I never do,” Chiddy says, hefting two racks of glasses out to the bar and leaving Tessa to fume by herself.

She uses the time while it’s dead to double check the books for last week and make sure nothing slipped through the cracks (“What, you don’t trust us to do your job?” “I trust that you _tried_ to do my job”), which also serves the purpose of keeping her in the office and safely away from any unwanted advances.

To some degree it’s an occupational hazard to be an attractive bartender, whether male, female, or anywhere in-between; when people get drunk, they get bold, and when they get bold they insist on making their feelings known. She’s no stranger to dealing with assholes, and on more than one occasion has had to physically escort someone out of the bar herself (despite her petite stature, she’s been the undefeated Le Mal Néccesaire arm wrestling champ for two years running).

But at least, Tessa figures, she’s in a position to keep an eye on how much her patrons are imbibing. It’s become a talent of hers, knowing just how much is going to be too much for anyone who walks in. She can keep an eye on girls’ drinks, and every woman in the area knows that if they’re getting hassled the offender is getting tossed out within seconds. Being a bartender means seeing some of the worst human behavior, and Tessa has decided that none of those behaviors have any place in her bar.

And she does think of Le Mal Nécessaire as her bar, despite not being the owner. Patch and Marie-France are practically her second family, and since being promoted to bar manager, they’ve pretty much let her run things the way she likes...except for the entertainment.

Patch insists it’s because the bar has had a piano player since his father bought it thirty years ago, and it’s the only thing Tessa has not been able to get him to budge on. It wasn’t so bad while Norman was playing - he’d been their weekend entertainer since she started, but he’d retired a couple of years back when his arthritis got too bad for him to play every week. Since then it had been a parade of flakes and assholes who thought they were too good for the gig and expected special treatment. None of them lasted longer than a month, and Tessa had given up on trying to build a rapport with them altogether.

Chiddy had been right about one thing - the guy was good. After joining the team out at the bar to take care of the evening rush, she could hear half the customers chanting the “na na na”s at the end of “Hey Jude”. And really, she was watching him play and rethinking her snap judgment of him when he looked her straight in the eye and sang Billy Joel, and that’s when Tessa Virtue decided she was not going to give this man a snowball’s chance in hell.

 

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

 

It’s a Saturday night and the bar is packed to the gills, and as much as Tessa hates to admit it, it’s likely because of Scott. He’s not just talented, he’s part musician, part comedian, and the kind of showman who can put even a roomful of drunken bar patrons under his spell.

Not that she’s paying attention to him, or anything. It’s just hard to miss how he can shift the energy in the bar from raucous and rowdy to downright tranquil with one song. Not only that, he knows the lyrics to Bennie and the Jets. The  _correct_ lyrics.

"Oh but they're weird and they're wonderful, oh Bennie she's really keen," she hears him sing as she's mixing cocktails. "She's got electric boots, a mohair suit, you know I read it in a magaziiiine..."

“Why won’t you talk to him? He’s super nice,” Kaitlyn says as she’s waiting for the Tom Collins Tessa is making. “He hasn’t made a pass at anyone, he’s really polite to all of us-”

Tessa picks up the cocktail shaker she just filled and shakes it vigorously next to her ear to drown Kaitlyn out. “So he’s a decent human being,” she yells over the sound of ice crashing together in the shaker. “Let’s give him an award.” She slams the shaker down on the bar and gives Kaitlyn a Look. “They’re always nice the first couple of weeks, and then they get bored, and then they cause trouble for me.” Tessa strains the mixture into a glass, garnishes it, and hands it to Kaitlyn. “I’m perfectly content to not speak to him unless absolutely necessary, and it hasn’t been necessary.”

Kaitlyn raises an eyebrow at her and motions with her head towards the piano, where Scott has switched to a tune that is lovely and familiar. As she comes to the realization that it’s a version of Lady in Red, Tessa looks down at her red satin tank top, her face turning roughly the same color as the material.

“I’m pretty sure he thinks it’s necessary,” Kaitlyn shouts over her shoulder as she leaves to deliver her tray full of drinks.

Songs alluding to her sartorial choices aside, Scott didn’t seem to have much interest in actually speaking to her. He’d kept a wide berth since that first uncomfortable meeting three weeks ago, taking his breaks at a table instead of the bar and always sending his drink orders via Kaitlyn or Ashley. A polite wave hello or goodbye is the most interaction she has with him, and that suits her just fine.

Although it is kind of weird that he hasn’t approached her, at all. Especially since the tank top in question is her lucky tank top, usually reserved for the rare night out, the one that makes her eyes look even more green and gives just the tiniest peek at her belly button ring. The tank top that he’s clearly noticed. Probably.

The night wears on, the crowd thins, and Scott switches to the more soothing part of his repertoire. Tessa’s wiping down the bar top and mentally tallying how many glasses they broke that night, deep in her own thought processes when she hears it.

“She comes to me when I’m feeling down, inspires me without a sound-” _Oh hell no._ “-she touches me, and I get turned around…”

Tessa whips around, fully expecting to catch his gaze with a white-hot glare, but he’s not even looking at her. In fact, she feels a little like she’s intruding on a private moment, the expression on his face is so tender and unguarded. She gets the impression that the bar could be burning down around him and he wouldn’t even notice, like he’s singing just for himself.

“...She's got a light around her, and everywhere she goes a million dreams of love surround her, everywhere…”

Just like that, he’s pulled her in.

Tessa doesn’t even realize she’s been staring at him the entire time until the last few notes fade into the low static of bar noise and he finally looks up - and catches her.

She waits for the smirk, for the glint in his eye that says _I know you want me,_ but it doesn’t come; he seems just as shocked by the moment as she is, almost embarrassed.

Before either of them has a chance to react, Chiddy walks by, snapping Tessa out of her haze. “I’m gonna start restocking the beer coolers-” he starts to say, but Tessa turns around and practically throws her cleaning rag at him. “The hell?”

“Uh, I’ll do the beer cooler, just...finish wiping down this side of the bar for me? And then restock glasses? I’ve gotta...I need a minute,” she stammers.

“Sure, okay,” Chiddy says, looking more than a little concerned. “Do you want me to close for you?”

“No, you don’t have to do that, I just need a little air,” Tessa manages to choke out, and then all but runs away, through the back and out the door to stand gasping next to the dumpsters, wondering what the _hell_ just happened.

 

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

 

“Are you serious right now, Kaitlyn?” Tessa’s got her hands on her hips, doing her best impression of a disappointed boss but she can tell it’s not very effective on Kaitlyn so she switches tack. “Chiddy’s already off, and if you leave now it’ll just be me and Ashley closing by ourselves!”

Guilt isn’t super effective, either. “Tess, I _promised_ Andrew I’d be there tonight! I’m sorry I forgot to put it on the calendar, but I haven’t had a chance to see him work in _forever_!”

“You’re his girlfriend, you get to see him work all the time,” Tessa grumbles, but her empathy wins out in the end. “Fine, but you’re closing an extra night next week.”

“Ohhh thank you thank you thank you!” Kaitlyn squeals, throwing her arms around Tessa. “I’ll close _two_ extra nights next week!”

Tessa hugs her back, then releases her so Kaitlyn can go skipping out the door. “Tell Andrew I say hi, and good luck!” she calls after her, and Kaitlyn acknowledges her with a wave and is out the door with a tinny jingle.

Any feelings of generosity that had fueled Tessa’s decision were long gone by last call. Being short both a waitress and her unofficial bouncer meant Tessa had been on high alert and firing on all cylinders for four hours, and although nothing of note actually happened, her exhaustion is palpable by the time the doors are locked.

Ashley’s wiping down tables and Tessa is inventorying the liquor when Scott comes up behind her and calls her name softly. “Hey, Tessa?”

He sounds about as threatening as a puppy, but his unexpected presence still makes her gasp and almost drop the empty bottle of Jack she’s holding. “ _Jesus,_ Scott, you scared the shit out of me!” she blurts out, turning to face him. “What are you still doing here?”

“I saw Kaitlyn leave earlier, I just thought you might want a hand closing up,” he says, and Tessa eyes him with suspicion.

“I’m not cutting you in on the bar tips, if that’s what you’re looking for,” she says, and he smiles - smiles! - and shakes his head.

“Nah, I made plenty tonight,” he says. “Just wanted to help out.”

In two and a half years of piano playing jerks, not one of them had ever offered to help out with anything. _Who the hell is this guy?_ “Okay,” she says finally. “Grab a broom out of the back and start sweeping up, that’d be a huge help.” He nods and starts towards the back, but she calls after him. “Oh, and Scott?”

He stops like he’s been yanked backward. “Yeah?”

“Don’t call me Tessa,” she says. “Only my mother calls me that. Tess is fine.”

There’s that smile again. “Sure, Tess,” he says, and she tries to ignore how hearing her name across his lips makes her feel...things.

For the next hour Scott is actually a huge help, stacking chairs and wiping down various surfaces, and helping Tessa get an extra-heavy bag of trash into the dumpster (strong as she may be, there’s only so much a petite woman can do against a dumpster significantly taller).

“See ya, Tess,” Ashley calls out, and Scott even offers to walk her to her car.

When he gets back, Tessa regards him quizzically. “What?” he asks.

“What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?” she asks him.

He laughs. “Is that a pickup line?” he replies, making Tessa turn various shades of red.

 _“No,”_ she says. “I mean, you’re probably the most talented piano player that’s come through here, and as much as I love this place it’s still a tiny dive in a weirder part of town, so why here?”

Scott looks down. “Still got bills to pay,” he says, and he’s so visibly uncomfortable that Tessa backs off for once in her life.

“Anyway,” she says, “Thanks a lot for helping out tonight. Means I’m not here for another two hours.”

“Not a problem,” he says, and when Tessa pulls her wallet out of her purse and hands him a couple of twenties, he looks confused. “I told you I didn’t need the bar tips.”

“This isn’t bar tips,” Tessa says, “It’s your tip. For playing tonight. I liked the songs you picked.”

“Oh,” he says, and is it her imagination or is his neck turning red? “Well...thank you. I’m glad you liked it.”

“Like I said, you’ve got talent,” Tessa says, shrugging. “Walk me to my car?”

Scott escorts her to her car in the lot out back, waiting patiently as she double- and triple-checks that everything is locked up, and grabs the car door to hold it for her after she unlocks it.

“G’night, Tess,” he says as she starts up the car, and all she can manage is an awkward wave as she drives away, entirely overwhelmed by the flutter in her chest.

She can already hear Kaitlyn’s voice in her head. _Oh, girl, you are in_ **_trouble._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yell at me on Twitter, @MissSixFics!
> 
> Songs featured in this chapter: 
> 
> Lady In Red, Chris de Burgh (although the version I imagine him using is an instrumental by Frenmad)  
> She's Got A Way, Billy Joel  
> Bennie and the Jets, Elton John


	3. I work 'til I ache in my bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrew hadn’t been kidding when he’d told Scott that Tessa might say hello to him in a couple of weeks, if he was lucky...and apparently he was one unlucky sonuvabitch, because it’s been three weeks and she hasn’t said a single word to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this just kind of spilled out of me, right after posting the last chapter, and things are rolling along but I will warn you that this is wholly unedited and the last half was written while hopped up on sugar and caffeine. NO BETAS, WE CORRECT TYPOS AFTER POSTING LIKE REAL FIC WRITERS.
> 
> I kid. But that's how I operate, at least.

Andrew hadn’t been kidding when he’d told Scott that Tessa _might_ say hello to him in a couple of weeks, if he was lucky...and apparently he was one unlucky sonuvabitch, because it’s been three weeks and she hasn’t said a single word to him.

Not that he’s tried, really; he gives her a wave and a smile when he comes in, and she gives him a curt nod or a hand lifted just enough to acknowledge him, but beyond that Scott has tried to keep his distance, as much for his sake as for hers. This crush of his is getting a little out of control, but if Andrew says she doesn’t date the talent…

It’s just that she’s gorgeous, and he can’t help but see her interact with the regulars and notice how radiant her smile is, or hear her impossibly big laugh ring out from behind the bar. He could pick that laugh out anywhere, he thinks.

 _Calm down, Moir. It’s just a crush,_ he thinks to himself. But it doesn’t help that tonight she’s wearing a red top that both sets off her eyes and hints at her abs, and he gets an idea. One that, admittedly, centers around his belief that music is a universal language, and is likely terrible, but what the hell. It’s not like she can speak to him _less._

Scott plays out the end of an Elton John song, waiting for a slight lull in the loud buzz of the bar, then goes straight into “Lady In Red”, opting to make it an instrumental (so as not to be too obvious, as if the song wasn’t obvious enough in itself). In his peripheral vision he can see her mixing drinks and chatting with Kaitlyn, and he’s half disappointed, half relieved to realize she probably isn’t even listening.

But then she looks down, then up, blushing–and the tiniest glimmer of hope settles in Scott’s stomach.

It might be influencing his typical end-of-night song choices, a little. There’s a few more love songs than he might usually play, but he doesn’t manage to get another reaction like the one from earlier, so he settles back into his comfort zone and starts one of his favorites.

“She’s got a way about her, I don’t know what it is, but I know that I can’t live without her,” he sings, and he’s no Billy Joel but he hopes he sounds as sincere. The music picks him up and carries him away, and he lets himself forget about the bar and the breakup and his shitty life choices for three whole minutes.

The last few notes fade under his fingertips, and he gives his customary glance out at the rest of the bar to read the energy–and catches Tessa staring directly at him.

 _Do something, idiot,_ his brain is screaming at him, but he’s helpless against the way he’s just exposed himself and the expression of guarded interest on her face, and all he can do is stare back.

Then Chiddy walks by and the spell is broken. She turns to hand off the rag she’s holding and quickly heads towards the back, and Scott sighs to himself and adds the incident to his rapidly growing list of things he’s screwed up.

Andrew strolls up before he can start feeling too sorry for himself. “Hey man,” he says, “you want to hit the diner and grab a bite to eat? Kaitlyn’s closing tonight, so I’ve got some time to kill before we head home...are you okay?”

“What? I mean, uh, yeah,” Scott says, distracted by the memory of how Tessa had been looking at him. “I’m good. Diner sounds great, I could use a mediocre sandwich.”

“Oookay,” Andrew says in that whatever-you-say tone. “Come grab me when you’re ready to head out.”

Scott wraps it up, collecting his tips and putting on his jacket, and as they walk by the bar on their way out the front he’s hoping to catch Tessa’s eye again but she’s nowhere to be found. _Awesome, now she’s avoiding me completely. Good job, Scott._

Andrew holds the door open, and notices Scott is still several steps behind him. “You sure you’re okay, man?”

“Couldn’t be better,” Scott says. “Let’s get some food.”

 

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

 

Scott continues to keep his distance until the following week, when he sees Kaitlyn bounce out the door around 11pm and realizes it’s just Tessa and Ashley running things on a Friday night. Andrew’s not there, either, so Scott does his best to keep the ambiance light and happy and not too boisterous.

For the next four hours he fights an internal battle over whether or not he should offer to help. On the one hand, it’s the right thing to do, and he’s been in enough bars to be a help and not a hindrance. On the other, he doesn’t want to make Tessa feel like he’s harassing her, either.

On the _other_ other hand–It’s selfish of him, but he kinda wants to be the hero tonight, even if Tessa doesn’t seem like the kind of woman who needs one.

In the end, courtesy wins out, and to his surprise she tells him to grab a broom and pitch in. Not only that...she tells him to call her by her nickname. “Sure, Tess,” he says, and he likes how easily it rolls off his tongue.

He doesn’t get home until almost 6 in the morning, but it was worth it to have had an actual conversation with her. The only hiccup had been when she asked him what he was doing there, because to be certain, he wasn’t sure himself.

He wakes up to the sound of his phone buzzing on his nightstand, and he picks it up to see “Cady <3” on the caller ID. _I’ve really gotta change that._

He hesitates for so long that the phone stops buzzing, but then her name pops up again immediately and he sighs and answers. “Hi, Cady.”

“Hey, honey. How’re you?” comes the slurred response on the other end, and it’s obvious she’s drunk.

“Cady. It’s 1 in the afternoon, and you’re not supposed to be drinking,” he says gently, sitting up in bed.

Her reply is defiant, defensive. “I havn’ been drinking, I just...I went to the dentist, my mouth is all numb.”

“You’ve got to stop,” Scott says, ignoring the excuse. “The doctor said you’re already showing signs of liver damage, remember?”

“I toldja, I’m no–I’m _not_ drinking. ’S not like you care, anyway,” she adds bitterly.

“Of course I care, Cady, I’m always going to _care_ ,” Scott shoots back, and now he’s a little angry.

The line goes quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry, Scott. I was jus’ thinking...do you miss it? How it was before?”

“I do,” Scott says cautiously, “but the past is the past, Cady. We can’t go back.” _And that’s mostly because of you,_ he thinks, feeling a little bitter himself. The bitterness is immediately chased by guilt, and he pushes both emotions out of his head. “We have to move forward.”

“Anyway,” Cady says, and she sounds more subdued, “I called to tell you I’m going to rehab next week. Inpatient this time.”

“That’s great!” Scott says, and he genuinely means it. “That is a _big_ step forward.”

“Thanks,” she says, wistfully. “I’m sorry. ‘Bout everything.”

“You don’t have to be sorry, just get better, ok?” he tells her.

They hang up and Scott lies back down, letting his phone fall to the side. _We have to move forward,_ he’d said to his ex-girlfriend and former bandmate, but he doesn’t know if that’s what he’s doing, or if he’s just treading water.

By 6pm a few more hours of sleep have buoyed his mood somewhat, but Scott is still feeling out of sorts when he arrives at the bar that night. It does help that when he gives his customary wave and smile to Tessa, he gets a wave and a “Hey!” in return.

To distract himself, he starts playing songs outside his usual repertoire, and when he gets to the chorus of “Somebody to Love” he might just be imagining it but Tessa’s watching him play again between mixing drinks.

It turns out he’s not imagining things. Kaitlyn stops by after the song, holding her tray aloft and presenting it to him with a flourish. “Special delivery,” she says, and Scott picks up the offered cocktail napkin and flips it over as Kaitlyn wanders away.

 

“Do you know Tiny Dancer?

–T”

 

 _Do I know Tiny Dancer,_ he thinks a little snarkily to himself, and scoots over on the piano bench so he can see the bar better. Tessa’s pouring a beer, but when she turns around he catches her eye and winks.

He hasn’t played it in quite a while (it’s a little overdone, in his opinion, and usually by people who shouldn’t be doing it), but the muscle memory remains and he rolls easily into the opening notes. “Blue jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band,” he starts, and he can’t help but turn to look at Tessa as he sings the first stanza. “Pretty eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music man...ballerina, you must have seen her dancing in the sand-”

This time, when she catches him looking, instead of a glare he’s rewarded by a small but pleased smile. “- and now she's in me, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand…”

 

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

 

“Yeah, ma, I’m doing fine, I promise. I’ll come home for a visit soon.” A knock at Scott’s bedroom door interrupts his weekly phone call with his mother. “Look, I gotta go, but I’ll call you later this week, okay? Yeah, I love you too. Bye.”

He hangs up and opens the door to find Russ, the older gentleman Scott’s renting his room from, and he looks uncomfortable. “Hey, Scott. Do you have a minute?”

“Yeah, of course. What’s up?” he asks, but he’s got a sinking feeling that he already knows.

“Uh...well, I know when you started renting this room from me I said you could stay as long as you needed, but my son’s having some money problems, and he’s going to be moving back in…” Russ trails off, reluctant to finish his sentence, but Scott just stares at him until he continues. “So what that means is, ah, I’m gonna need this room.”

“Oh. I mean, yeah, of course. Can you wait until I find a new place?” Scott asks, but Russ shakes his head.

“I can give you a week, but that’s when my son gets back in town. I’m sorry I can’t give you more time.”

“No, I get it. I guess I’d better get cracking, eh?” Scott says with a nervous chuckle, and when Russ excuses himself and shuts the bedroom door, he flops onto the bed with a groan. _Here we go again._

Once his optimism returns, Scott is confident there are several dozen places willing to rent him a room. He’s not exactly wrong, but what he doesn’t anticipate is the condition those places are in.

The first place he checks out seems nice enough, until he looks up and spots what appears to be large patches of black mold all over the ceiling. “It’s fine, the ceiling just leaks sometimes,” says the guy who owns the house, and Scott politely says thanks but no thanks.

The second place he finds doesn’t have doors. As in, the doors have been removed from all of the rooms, including the bathroom. “I find that doors create artificial barriers between human beings,” the woman in a floral house dress says. “Removing them helps reinforce trust and honesty.”

“I’ll give you a call back, absolutely,” Scott says, already halfway in his car. He immediately blocks her number and absolutely does not call her back.

The third place is just a straight up dump, and Scott’s not entirely sure the guy who claims to own it isn’t just squatting.

By the time Friday rolls around, Scott has managed to find every shady, sleazy, or straight up strange would-be landlord, and not one place that is both 1. in a livable condition and 2. occupied by someone Scott is confident won’t try to kill him in his sleep.

So he does the only thing he can do–he packs up all of his stuff into the beat-up station wagon he bought when he had to leave New York, and asks Russ to kick back some of his rent money since he didn’t stay the whole month (which he does without complaint, and to his credit probably hands over more than he should have).

Scott does keep looking, but in the meantime it’s just easier to park in the lot behind Le Mal Nécessaire where the signs say he’ll get towed but he knows for a fact he won’t. It’s easy enough to pretend to drive away on the weekends, and take a ten minute cruise through town before circling back and parking after everyone else has left. Then he’s free to sleep in his car until at least 1 in the afternoon, when Tessa comes in to start opening up.

It’s a pretty great system, at least while the weather is mild and he doesn’t have to worry about either freezing or baking while he sleeps, and he’s seriously considering just living out of his car until he can’t–at least he’s saving up enough money that maybe he can afford an apartment, or at least a room in a house where he’s not afraid for his life.

He’s snoozing away one Saturday morning when he’s jolted awake by a tapping on his window. His first reaction is confusion–where is he? Why is his bed so small?–but then he realizes that he’s in the backseat of his car, and the person tapping on his window is Tessa, and boy does she look concerned.

When he finally manages to get his wits about him, he reaches over and opens the car door so he can spill out in his Leafs-emblazoned holey t-shirt and plaid flannel pants. “Hey, Tess,” is the only thing he can think to say. “What are you doing here? It’s only, like, nine in the morning.”

“I came in early to do the books for the month. What the hell, Scott? Why are you sleeping in your car?” Her tone demands an answer, so all he can give her is the truth.

“I, uh, couldn’t stay at the place I was living anymore and I haven’t been able to find another place that isn’t a shithole,” he says, still groggy.

Tessa doesn’t say anything for several long moments, and she’s looking at Scott but he can tell she’s working something out in her head. He just hopes it’s not “You’re fired”.

“You know,” she starts, her voice low and carefully measured, “there’s an empty room on the second floor we don’t use for anything. I’m sure Patch would let you stay there, and he might even cut you a deal.”

“Are you serious?” Scott asks, and she nods. “That’d be great! You have no idea how much that helps me out.”

Tessa smiles and it’s glorious, a full on genuine smile. “C’mon,” she says. “Let’s go upstairs so you can check it out.”

It’s not a large room, but there’s enough room for at least a double mattress and his stuff, and it even has a window. “This is perfect, Tess,” he says, awed that she’d be willing to help him out that much.

“I mean–it’s not the most glamorous place, but it’s better than sleeping in your car,” she says. “I’m gonna call Patch right now and explain things.”

Tessa pulls out her phone and heads back downstairs, leaving Scott to continue surveying the room he might be able to call home and consider the perks–not the least of which is the opportunity to spend more time in Tessa’s company.

Which, Scott realizes, he would pay just about any price for, and that’s when he realizes his crush might be a little more than a crush. He might– _might_ –just be falling for her.

Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it is. Special thanks to PinkGerberDaisies for getting me unstuck. 
> 
> Yell at me on Twitter, @MissSixFics!
> 
> Songs featured:
> 
> Somebody to Love, Queen  
> Tiny Dancer, Elton John


	4. I can still remember how that music used to make me smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Scott, I wasn’t gonna let you keep sleeping in your car,” she says, mildly exasperated. “We take care of each other.” A flush rises in her cheeks as she realizes how that sounds. “I mean, we as in the staff–it’s like a family. So, you’re part of the family now.”
> 
> “Thanks, Tess,” he says softly. “That, ah–it means a lot to me.”
> 
> The emotion in his voice is the last straw, and at this point humor is the only thing that’s going to keep her from turning into a stammering puddle of nonsense. “Well, I mean, you are the only musician that’s stuck around here for longer than a few weeks,” she says. “If you make it to six months you get a toaster.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** Brief mentions of alcoholism.
> 
> Many thanks to [bucketofrice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bucketofrice/pseuds/bucketofrice) and [PinkGerberDaisies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkGerberDaisies/pseuds/PinkGerberDaisies) for the lightning fast beta! This chapter was a long time coming, pun not intended.

Tessa’s least favorite thing to do is wake up before noon (well, it’s usually 2 or 3pm with her schedule, but noon is the absolute earliest she will allow herself to be roused), so the end of the month is always a struggle. That’s when she has to drag herself out of bed by at least eight so she can go in early and balance the books, place supply orders, and do all those other bar manager things that keep the place running.

As she turns down the alley to get to the lot behind the bar, she’s surprised to see Scott’s car there. He definitely left last night; he’d pulled out right behind her...did he forget something? But how would he get in? Did something happen to him?

The amount of concern she’s feeling catches her a little off guard. _He’s part of the bar family now, of course I care,_ she tells herself as she gets out of her car and speedwalks over to look inside the beat-up vehicle.

The windows are cracked just slightly, and she’s startled to see Scott curled up on the backseat, asleep under a blanket. _Hopefully just asleep,_ she thinks, mildly panicked, and starts rapping on the window.

To her relief, he wakes quickly, then lets himself out of the station wagon and stands up, still shaking off sleep. “Hey, Tess,” he says, sheepishly.

Tessa listens to his brief explanation for just why exactly he’s sleeping in his car, and the wheels start turning in her head; she is a problem solver, and this is a problem that definitely needs to be solved. The spare room over the bar is a possibility...Patch and Marie France would totally go for it, right?

After weighing out just how much convincing she would have to do to make this arrangement work, she shows him the room. “This is perfect, Tess,” he says, and the expression on his face makes her heart swell.

She’s trying to squish it back into submission while she calls Patch. “Hello Tessa, is everything alright?” he answers, and she can hear Billie-Rose in the background, chanting something about pancakes.

“Yes, everything is fine–well, almost everything,” she says. “You know how we have that empty room upstairs?”

Tessa reiterates Scott’s predicament to Patch, leaving out the part where she already offered it to him. “So I was thinking, he could stay there at least until he finds a better place,” she says. “And it’s not like we’re doing anything with it, maybe you could lowball the rent and then he could save up some money?”

The line goes silent for a couple of minutes, and she can hear the muffled sounds of Patch talking to Marie-France. “Tessa?” he says, and she holds her breath, “Ask him how much he would like to pay in rent. Any amount is fine, as long as he’s willing to help out when you need it. I will get him some keys this afternoon.”

Tessa releases the breath she was holding with relief. “I will, thank you so much! He’s going to be thrilled!”

Scott comes back down just as she’s hanging up. “So what’s the verdict?” he asks.

“It’s yours, for whatever you can afford,” Tessa tells him, and his face lights up like she just handed him a million dollars. “You’ve gotta help out around the bar more, but–what?” she asks, because he’s looking at her like he’s got something to say.

“Can I hug you?” Scott asks, and she does not like how her internal organs are responding to the earnest expression on his face. Not one bit.

“Sure, I’ve never been asked if someone could–whoa!” Her words turn into a yell as Scott scoops her up in a huge hug, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around before setting her back down. “Okay, now I get why you asked,” she says, re-adjusting her shirt.

“Sorry, I just–I appreciate this so much, T,” he says. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“Scott, I wasn’t gonna let you keep sleeping in your _car,_ ” she says, mildly exasperated. “We take care of each other.” A flush rises in her cheeks as she realizes how that sounds. “I mean, we as in the staff–it’s like a family. So, you’re part of the family now.”

“Thanks, Tess,” he says softly. “That, ah–it means a lot to me.”

The emotion in his voice is the last straw, and at this point humor is the only thing that’s going to keep her from turning into a stammering puddle of nonsense. “Well, I mean, you _are_ the only musician that’s stuck around here for longer than a few weeks,” she says. “If you make it to six months you get a toaster.”

Scott laughs. “That would be nice,” he says. “I’m going to have to get some furniture, I don’t even have a bed.”

“Oh.” That hadn’t even occurred to her. “Um, let me make some phone calls while you start taking your things up.”

A couple of hours later, Kaitlyn and Andrew pull up in Andrew’s massive truck that’s been loaded with stuff: a mattress and box spring strapped on top of a bookshelf and a nightstand. Tessa calls Scott down to help out, and Kaitlyn gets out of the truck and immediately starts talking.

“I’m sorry I don’t still have the bedframe, but the mattress was mine from before I moved in with Andrew,” she says. “I always used a mattress cover, so it’s not gross or anything. The bookshelf and nightstand were mine too. It’s all that’s left that we were too lazy to get rid of; I’m sorry we don’t have more.”

“No, no, this is just incredible of you guys,” Scott says. “How much do I owe you?”

Andrew walks up behind Kaitlyn, shaking his head. “No charge. I should pay _you_ for getting this stuff out of my garage.”

“Chiddy’s at the thrift store right now, I told him to get a couple of lamps,” Tessa says. “Is there anything else you need?”

Scott doesn’t reply right away, and she can see from the look on his face that he’s a bit overwhelmed by everything. “No, I just...this is amazing, you guys. I don’t even know how to return the favor.”

Kaitlyn, of course, has to lighten the moment. “Well to start, you could close for me for the next month.” Tessa smacks her lightly on the arm. “Kidding, kidding. Seriously, Scott, this is not a big deal. You need a place to stay, we’ve got you.”

Just then, Chiddy pulls up and hops out of his car. “So I found a decent floor lamp, but the only table lamp I could find that wasn’t totally busted-looking is one of those Eiffel Tower lamps, I hope that’s okay.”

“Chiddy, I’m not gonna complain,” Scott says. “How much were the lamps?”

“Uh, like ten bucks altogether. I’m not making you pay me ten bucks for some shitty thrift store lamps,” Chiddy says, looking puzzled. “Buy me a drink sometime when we’re out and I’ll call it even.”

Scott continues to stand speechless, staring at the wealth of furnishings around him, so Tessa breaks the ice. “Well c’mon, guys, he’s not living in the parking lot. Let’s get this stuff upstairs.”

 

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

 

Scott living above the bar has turned out to be the worst idea Tessa’s ever had in her life.

It’s not that he’s a bad tenant–no, he’s the opposite of that.

“Do you believe in rock and roll, can music save your mortal soul, and can you teach me how to dance real slow?”

Currently, he’s playing “American Pie”, to the delight of the three or so patrons who are swaying in front of him. He catches her eye and winks, and she rolls her eyes but can’t suppress a smile.

Scott is the epitome of a model tenant. He’s taken her instructions to help out around the bar to heart; his first night there he’d fixed the leaky pipe under the big sink in the back room, taken inventory of all their liquor, and lately he’s been giving her an exact count every day of how many glasses they’d broken the night before.

“It’s not like I’m doing anything else,” he told her this morning after reporting that they’d broken three tumblers and a martini glass. “I come down here when I’m bored and I play the piano and I count stuff.”

It’s disgustingly adorable, and Tessa hates how much she looks forward to his daily statistics.

“My, my Miss American Pie, drove my Chevy to the levy but the levy was dry…” There’s only about 15 people in the bar, but all of them are singing along with the chorus at the top of their lungs. Tessa pauses in her routine ministrations to watch the scene with maybe a little more fondness than she typically would, and Kaitlyn chooses that moment to pounce.

“It’s a slow night. You know what we need?” she asks, and Tessa sighs inwardly because she knows what Kaitlyn thinks she needs. “We need a sampler night.”

“Kaitlyn, we said we weren’t gonna do those anymore after the last sampler night,” she says, already knowing she’s going to lose this battle, but not without putting up a fight.

“We’ll behave this time! Besides, we all paid you back for the liquor we went through!” Kaitlyn has a trace of a pout on her lips, but Tessa makes one last stand.

“We had to go an entire Friday night with no well vodka! Do you know how much bitching I had to listen to over the price of Grey Goose?” she asks. Over Kaitlyn’s shoulder she can see Scott getting up from the piano and heading for the bar, and Tessa wants this conversation to be over before he gets there.

Kaitlyn isn’t swayed. “I promise we won’t go through our entire supply of vodka,” she says, ”But isn’t that kind of your fault for making so many vodka-based drinks? Besides,” she continues, “Scott has to experience at least one sampler night.”

Of course, she’s managed to get that last sentence out just as Scott gets within earshot. “What’s a sampler night?” he asks.

Tessa gives Kaitlyn a dirty look that says _you did that on purpose_ , but neither she nor Scott notice because Kaitlyn is already providing an explanation. “Sampler nights are when we all stay after closing and Tessa uses us as guinea pigs for some new cocktails.”

“And then everyone splits a cab because they’re all smashed, and then I have to pick everyone up early the next day so they can help me do the things that didn’t get done the night before,” Tessa says, “and they complain the whole time because they’re so hungover.”

“Sounds like fun,” Scott says.

“Oh, they are,” Kaitlyn says, “but I don’t think Tessa wants to have one.”

Tessa’s dirty look intensifies, but she drops the expression to a more neutral one as soon as Scott turns to face her. “Why not, T? I live here, I’ll help you close up so no one has to come in early. I’ll even volunteer to pick everyone up.”

“Yeah, why not, T?” Kaitlyn asks, blissfully unaware of just how close she is to getting all the closing shifts for the next six months.

Tessa looks back and forth between the two of them, then rolls her eyes and sighs. “Clearly I’m outnumbered here. And I do have some new ideas,” she adds reluctantly, “that _don’t_ involve vodka.”

“I’ll go call Ash and Chiddy!” Kaitlyn practically sings, leaving Tessa to glare daggers in the back of her perky blonde head and Scott to regard her with bafflement.

“Did I miss something?” he asks, and Tessa realizes she must be wearing the mother of all bitch faces. Her features soften and she shakes her head.

“No, the last sampler night just got a little out of hand and I thought we were done with them. They _are_ fun, though,” she says. “You’ll stay late tonight, then?”

As soon as the words leave her mouth she cringes, but Scott – to his credit – doesn’t laugh at her. “Yeah, I hate to break my routine of exiling myself to my room once you lock up but I guess I’ll just have to be social for tonight,” he says with a wink, and Tessa is suddenly reminded of amusement parks as her stomach suspends itself inside her like she’s about to crest the hill on a rollercoaster.

“Great,” she says with a half smile. “Can’t wait.”

 

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

 

The last patron has left, the bar is empty, the doors are locked and Tessa is where she feels the most comfortable: behind the bar mixing drinks. The crew is lolling about while she mixes, sitting in chairs in interesting configurations while Scott plays every random request shouted loud enough to hear.

“Okay guys, I hope you’re ready because I call this one the GOAT!” she calls out, straining the mixture into shot glasses.

“Okay, Tess, I’ve gotta be honest. the GOAT doesn’t sound appealing,” Ashley says. “Why would you call it that?”

Tessa holds her hand up, raising a finger for each word. “Greatest. Of. All. Time.”

“Okay, I’m willing to give it a try,” Ashley says, “But you should really consider renaming it.”

Everyone retrieves a shot glass off the bar except Scott, whose shot is still sitting next to the first sample she’d poured him earlier. As the rest of the group ambles off to play darts, Tessa catches his eye and motions him over.

“Do you not want to drink tonight?” she asks him. “No pressure, I just don’t want to keep pouring sample shots for you if you don’t want them.”

“Yeah, I try not to drink a lot of liquor,” Scott says, an apologetic half smile on his face. “I’m sorry, I should have said something earlier.”

“It’s not a problem,” Tessa says. “Do you want a beer or something?”

“I’ll take a beer,” he says, and Tessa retrieves a bottle of Molson from the beer fridge, opens it and hands it to him. He looks at it for a long time before taking a swig and setting it on the bar. “Is it okay if I just try a sip of them? Just to taste test?”

“Of course, I’m sure someone else will be happy to finish them off for you,” Tessa replies, just as cheers and shouts of “Bullseye!” erupt from the other side of the bar. “Pick your poison.”

Scott contemplates the two shot glasses in front of him. “Which one is the GOAT?”

“This one,” she says, nudging one of the glasses towards him.

He lifts it and takes a small sip of the golden liquid, rolling it around in his mouth for a moment. “That’s really good, Tess,” he says. “Like... _really_ good. What’s in it?”

“Bartender’s secret,” Tessa says with a wink. “That’s why I named it the GOAT.”

Scott picks up the other shot glass to sample (“What’s this one called?” “Oh, it’s my version of a Shady Lady.”). “Wow, this one’s really good too,” he says as he sets the glass down. “How are you not in some fancy club as a mixologist?”

Tessa winces just a bit. “I’m kind of...blacklisted from a lot of those clubs. Persona non grata.”

Scott’s confusion is obvious. “What? You’re a great bartender, why are you blacklisted?”

“It’s...it’s a long, stupid story.” She sighs and nervously wipes her hands on her jeans. “The gist of it is that I had some male customers who kept getting too handsy, and one of the bouncers had my back but management wanted me to suck it up and be nice to them.” Tessa smirks faintly at the memory. “I was not nice to them.”

A slow smile spreads across Scott’s face. “Tessaaaa,” he says teasingly, “What did you do to those unsuspecting young men?”

“It’s honestly not what I did,” Tessa protests, “I just pushed back, and when one of them got in my face Eric got involved, and...they started a brawl. They literally had a bar fight in this fancy, upscale club. Thank god nobody got seriously injured, just a couple of concussions and one guy got a nice shiner.” She shrugs. “But the manager blamed me for not letting them molest me, said I was egging them on, and word spread. I was out of work for two months before I found this place.”

“Wow. I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Scott says, but Tessa just shrugs again.

“It’s fine. Those places are terrible to their staff, and what I really want is to own my own bar, which wasn’t a possibility there.” She slides the shot glasses to the side and leans across the bar, folding her arms in front of her. “So I’m here because something shitty happened to me that turned out to be a good thing. Why are you here?”

“What do you mean?” Scott asks, his voice raising slightly with nervousness.

“You know what I mean,” Tessa insists. “You’re an amazing piano player, and a great performer, and you’re playing at a dive for tips and sleeping in your car.” She looks him straight in the eye, wondering if it’s the alcohol or her own impatience driving her words. “You should be in a recording studio, making music. Not here.”

Scott laughs to himself, and Tessa detects a trace of bitterness in the sound. “I was in a studio making music. Not quite a year ago. Had a contract and everything.”

“What happened?” Tessa asks softly.

“My ex...girlfriend, bandmate, whatever...she got a little too into the rock and roll lifestyle.” Scott has his beer in his left hand, his right hand peeling the paper label away from the bottle. “We both did, really. But she started drinking, a lot. It got to the point where she couldn’t function without a fifth of vodka in her. And then she showed up drunk to a function and picked a fight with one of the producer’s wives.”

“Oh _no,”_ Tessa says, and Scott shakes his head.

“Oh yes,” he says. “The label binned our album and cancelled our contract. Cady went to rehab, but relapsed just a couple of weeks after she got out and I couldn’t handle it anymore. I broke up with her and used what was left of my money to buy a shitty car and I just...left.” It’s Scott’s turn to shrug. “That’s why I stay away from the harder stuff.”

Tessa studies him while he studies his beer bottle. “You shouldn’t feel guilty for leaving, you know,” she says finally.

Scott smiles, a small, sad smile. “I know,” he says softly. “Still do, though.” He meets her gaze, and his hazel eyes are questioning, but warm. “Wouldn’t you?”

After a beat, Tessa nods. “Yeah, I would,” she says.

Another round of cheers interrupts the quiet moment they’re having, and Tessa grins, almost relieved to have an excuse to end their conversation. “Let’s go play a round of darts, and then I’ll mix you something light.”

“Deal,” Scott says, and follows her to join their friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only song in this chapter is American Pie by Don McLean, and the chapter title is pulled from it as well. It's a long-ass song, I thought it deserved to be the only song mentioned. 
> 
> Yell at me on Twitter, [@MissSixFics](https://twitter.com/MissSixFics).


	5. standing at the crossroads, don't know which path to choose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is where I earn my M rating. 
> 
> I've been blocked for some time now, and I had originally promised the next TMEL chapter, buuuuut this one kind of spilled out of me in a couple of days so I just had to go with it. Piano man Scott is very insistent.

His lips are slightly pursed, eyes steely as he lines up his shot. Carefully he pulls the dart back, lets it fly, and…

“Nooooo!” Disappointment rings out around him as the dart strikes about an inch directly below the bullseye. Chiddy claps him on the back, and Scott shrugs and picks up his beer. “Good game, Ash,” he says, raising the bottle to her, and she laughs.

“Good game, you’re a worthy opponent,” she repeats back to him, slurring just slightly. “Don’t worry, we’ll have a rematch.” 

He grins and strolls back to the bar with an empty bottle, where Tessa is putting things away and wiping down the counters. “Hey, Virtch,” he says, feeling a little loose.

She raises an eyebrow at her new moniker but doesn’t comment on it. “Want another?” she asks, already turning to the beer fridge.

“Oh, nah, I’m good,” he replies. “Just wanted to come see if you needed any help.”

“I’m pretty much done,” she says. “I take it Ashley kicked your ass at darts?”

“Twice,” he admits, a bit sheepish. “She’s like a dart throwing machine.”

“Apparently that’s how she earned her beer money in college,” Tessa says, laughing.

Scott shakes his head. “So that’s why she kept getting better the more she had to drink.”

“Yeah, it’s like Chiddy with pool.” Seeing the look of alarm on Scott’s face, Tessa giggles. “He invited you to go play pool, didn’t he.”

“Well, now I know not to play for money,” he says, taking a seat on a barstool. “This was fun, T. Thanks for lifting the ban so I could do this.”

“I wasn’t going to ban them  _ forever” _ , she protests. “Just...long enough that they’d think twice about getting too crazy.”

“Cab’s here!” Chiddy calls out from behind them. There’s a flurry of goodbyes as the crew stumbles out the door and then the bar is filled with a sudden silence, broken only by Tessa’s quiet footsteps and the gentle swishing of a rag as she finishes cleaning the bar top.

“So, um…” Scott clears his throat, feeling compelled to keep their conversation going. “I’ll still pick everyone up tomorrow, like I said.”

“That would be great, thank you.” Tessa puts her hands on her hips and surveys the dining area. “I think pretty much everything got done, actually. I just didn’t take the trash out yet.”

“I can do that,” he volunteers quickly. “I mean, you closed almost completely by yourself, I can drag a couple of bags out to the dumpster.”

“You do an awful lot around here for being the piano player,” she teases him with a smile, and he feels his ears get warm.

“Yeah, well, you do an awful lot for me even though I’m just the piano player,” he says softly.

Tessa glances down at her feet, looking almost bashful, and the silence returns. Finally she shrugs and shoots him a small smirk. “Maybe I’m just trying to butter you up so you stick around, and I don’t have to deal with any more assholes.”

“Touché,” he replies, choosing to focus on the implication that Tessa Virtue does not consider him an asshole. “Walk you to your car?”

“Sure, thanks. Let me grab my stuff.”

There’s a chill to the night air outside, and Scott can see goosebumps rising on Tessa’s bare arms as they stroll to her car. “You didn’t bring a jacket?” he chides. “You look cold.”

“I’m really not, I just didn’t think about it since it was so warm earlier,” she says, but she’s shivering slightly. “It’s fine, I’ve only got a ten minute drive ahead of me.”

Tessa turns to say goodbye and before he even realizes what he’s doing, Scott has reached out to rub the sides of her arms, trying to warm her exposed skin. Her mouth drops open slightly, her eyes wide with something Scott can’t quite place, and he stops immediately and stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

“I’m sorry, I just–here,” he says quickly, taking off his jacket abruptly and putting it around her shoulders. “I was getting cold just looking at you.”

“Thank you,” she mumbles, passing her purse from one hand to the other as she slips her arms into the sleeves. “Now go inside before you get cold.”

“Nah, I’m a furnace,” Scott jokes. “Goodnight, Tess.” 

“Goodnight,” she practically whispers, getting into her car, and then she’s gone.

 

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

 

It’s true, he does a lot around the bar, and it might be a bit for Tessa but in large part it’s because Scott does not understand what he did to earn his place in this little found family. Andrew invites him to play pick up hockey, Chiddy brings in his new vinyls to listen to before they open, Ashley asks for his opinion on the local bands she finds…

“You play the guitar?” Kaitlyn asks from atop a stepladder, spotting the instrument in the corner of his room as she’s hanging up strings of Christmas lights (“For ambience,” she’d said). “Is there anything you  _ don’t _ do?”

“Yeah, interior design,” he quips, and she laughs. “Why do you think I let you handle all that?”

“I’m glad  _ somebody _ recognizes my genius,” she says, just as Andrew walks in.

“Hey, I give you plenty of artistic control,” he says, giving Kaitlyn a quick pinch to her sides and making her squeal. “Just because I didn’t want a room painted entirely red…”

“It would have looked so great with your furniture!” she says, and he winces.

“It would have looked like a murder room, Kait,” Andrew replies, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his head against her back. 

“A very stylish murder room,” she says haughtily, and they all laugh.

Scott regards the pair as they banter about what to do with their guest bedroom. On the surface they seem like an odd couple–Kaitlyn perky and social, Andrew quiet and content to keep to himself–but the more he watches them interact, the more he sees why they work, the way they fill in each other’s gaps. 

“What is going on up here?” Tessa joins their conversation with a hint of exasperation. “We open in half an hour.”

“I know, Tess, I’m almost done,” Kaitlyn says. “I just thought this place needed a little more personality, gray brick walls are  _ not _ good for inspiration. Right, Scott?”

“They do make it look less like a jail cell–not that I would ever complain about having a roof over my head,” he adds quickly.

Tessa contemplates the lights for a moment. “It does make it feel a little more homey,” she says finally, with a small smile. “I’m really glad you’re getting settled in.”

Kaitlyn hooks the last strand of lights and plugs them in, the golden light radiating off the walls and giving the small space a feeling of warmth. “See you downstairs!” she says, scurrying out of the room with Andrew close behind her.

“I don’t know what to do with them sometimes,” Tessa sighs, the lights catching her hair and eyes in a way Scott tries not to notice.

“You could fire them, but Andrew’s not even on the payroll so they’d probably just keep showing up anyway,” he says, and Tessa laughs.

“You’re right,” she says. “So what’s on the setlist for tonight?”

“I’m feeling a little more contemporary,” Scott says. “The Pretenders? Maybe some Journey?”

“I wouldn’t call Journey contemporary,” she teases. “What about some of your own stuff?”

The question comes as a shock for Scott, and he fumbles for a minute before he can answer. “Really? I mean, uh, it’s a lot different from what I usually play, maybe at the end of the night when nobody’s paying attention anyway…”

“Well, think about it,” Tessa says, turning to leave. “I’d like to hear some of it.”

The idea of Tessa hearing his own music makes him feel weirdly vulnerable, so instead of replying he changes the subject as he follows her out of his room and down the stairs. “Have you seen Patch lately? He’s been pretty scarce around here.”

“Yeah, he’s been spending a lot more time at home,” she says. “I guess Marie-France has been teaching more dance classes, so he’s got Billie-Rose most of the time.”

“He’s lucky he’s got you to hold down the fort here,” Scott says, and she shrugs.

“If anything, I’m lucky he trusts me so much,” Tessa says, breezing through the swinging gate to take her place behind the bar. “It’s nice not to have someone breathing down my neck about profits and how the customer is always right.”

“Nobody would need to,” he tells her. “You run a tight ship, Tessa Virtue.”

She shakes her head, but he can tell the compliment pleases her. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Moir,” she teases. “Go play me a song, piano man.”

Scott grins as he leaves her to go sit at the piano, knowing exactly what he’s going to start the evening off with. “Oh, why you look so sad, the tears are in your eyes, come on and come to me now,” he croons. “And don’t be ashamed to cry, let me see you through, ‘cause I’ve seen the dark side too…”

This time he doesn’t even have to look up to know she’s smiling to herself.

 

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

 

He doesn’t play any of his own material that night, or at all that weekend, and Tessa doesn’t bring it up again. At least, not until about 12:30am the following Saturday during a lull.

“Have you been working on anything new?” she asks him as he’s seated at the bar with a sandwich and a beer. 

He almost chokes on the sip of beer he’d just taken. “Uh...a couple of things, I guess.” Those “couple of things” were songs about a green-eyed girl with a backbone of steel, but he wasn’t about to share that with her. “Mostly I’ve been re-working some older stuff I wanted to improve.” By which, he means he’s been removing references to his ex-girlfriend from some of his favorites.

“I really want to hear your stuff!” she says, reaching over the bar to lightly shove at his shoulder. “I hear you play the standards so often, but I want to know what your sound is like.”

“It’s not nearly as good as what I play here,” he protests. “Those guys are legends, I’m just a guy at a piano.”

“Still,” Tessa counters. “I’m curious. If you started playing your original music, that might be an even bigger draw for the bar.”

“Why don’t you stay after tonight and I’ll play you a couple of songs?” The words are out of his mouth before he registers what he’s saying, and the way Tessa’s face lights up makes his chest feel tight.  _ Well, no taking that one back. _

“I would love that!” she says, and before he can continue to talk himself down and adjust her expectations another wave of patrons arrives. “Oops, gotta go. Can’t wait!” she sings over her shoulder.

He doesn’t get another chance to talk to her until after closing, and he’s half hoping she’ll be too worn out to want to stick around but when he gets back from walking Kait and Ashley to their cars Tessa locks the back door behind him and looks at him expectantly. 

“Let’s go!” she says, and she’s so excited he has to acquiesce. 

He sits down behind the piano as she takes down a chair and spins it around backwards to seat herself in front of him, crossing her arms on the back of the chair and resting her chin on them adorably. 

It takes him a moment, but finally he picks something a little upbeat from his mental catalogue and starts to play. “And I missed some lucky breaks, maybe this world just wasn’t kind to me,” he sings the lyrics out full on, as though playing to a packed bar, even though his only audience is the woman sitting in front of him. “But it won’t get me down, you know I don’t look good in misery…”

As the last chords are dying Tessa sits up straight and applauds. “That was really good!” 

“You sound surprised about that,” he jokes, trying to get a handle on the wave of pride and satisfaction and pleased embarrassment washing over him.

“I am  _ not _ surprised,” Tessa insists. “I mean, I’m not surprised that it’s good. I just wasn’t sure if I’d enjoy it, you know? But I do!”

“Well, I’m glad you do,” he says, relaxing a little. “Want to hear another?”

“Of course!”

He plays her a couple more, even daring to play one he’d originally written for Cady when she was in the thick of her alcohol problem. “We might be in the same room, we can lie in the same bed, but I know that you’re not here with me, you’re lost in your own head.” It’s a struggle to keep from getting choked up, but he pushes on. “And the thing I want so much is you to hold me like you used to do, but the bottle’s holding onto you instead.”

There’s no applause this time as the notes fade, and when he looks at Tessa her eyes are shining with tears. “Wow,” she says quietly. “That must have been really hard to write.”

“It was,” he admits. “Songwriting is how I deal with things, though. That one...I don’t think I ever meant to play it for anyone else. You’re the first person to hear it.”

Tessa sits quietly for a moment. “Thank you,” she says finally. “That’s, um...I’m grateful that you trust me enough to share that part of you.”

“Outside of my family, you’re probably the person I trust most in the world right now,” Scott tells her. “Actually...my family doesn’t even know I’m here, they think I’m still playing gigs and recording.”

“You’re lying to your family?” Tessa asks, a hint of astonishment to her voice. “I mean, if it was my family I could understand, they’re kind of on my ass all the time. But from what you’ve told me, your family sounds great.”

“They are,” he says. “That’s why I didn’t want to tell them what happened. I just couldn’t stomach the idea of letting them down. I’ll tell them eventually, I just wanted to climb my way out of the hole I’m in first.”

“I get that,” Tessa says, “I guess.” 

He weighs his next words carefully, hoping he’s not overstepping but the wholly unguarded expression on Tessa’s face is stirring things in his chest. “Do you…” he says slowly, unsure of how his question will be received, “would you want to come upstairs and listen to something newer? I’ve been writing more for the guitar lately.”

There’s a moment of hesitation, and Scott wonders if he’s pushed too far but a cautious smile blossoms on Tessa’s face. “I’d love that.”

 

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

 

They make their way upstairs and Scott flips off the floor lamp as they walk in so the room is only illuminated with the white Christmas lights. Ambiance, indeed. “There’s a few beers in the mini fridge, help yourself,” he says, picking up his guitar and settling on the bed with it. Tessa gives him a puzzled look, and he knows how he sounds offering her beer when there’s a fully stocked bar downstairs. “You’re always providing me with alcohol, the least I could do is return the favor.”

“Fair enough.” She retrieves a beer and sits on the bed in front of him as he tunes the guitar. “How many instruments do you play?”

“Just the piano and the guitar,” he says. “And the bagpipes, but we don’t talk about that.”

“You play the bagpipes?” Tessa asks, a surprised giggle bursting from her.

“I used to,” he confirms, “much to my parents’ distress. I sold mine when I started touring, I never was very good at them.” He finishes tuning and starts strumming a song. 

Playing for Tessa in his room, on a guitar, is a whole different dynamic than playing for her downstairs. It feels closer, more intimate, and he notices little things about her as he plays–the way she taps her fingers against her bottle to the beat, the tilt of her head when she’s listening to his lyrics, the way she smiles when she particularly likes something.

“You really are talented,” she says when the song is over. “I know, I keep saying it, but...sometimes I feel like you don’t give yourself enough credit.”

“I used to give myself a lot of credit, but that got me nowhere, so…” his voice trails off. “I mean I used to be pretty arrogant. Guess I got what was coming to me.”

“You shouldn’t think like that,” Tessa protests. “Not that you should be arrogant, but nothing that happened to you was your fault, really. You just got pushed onto a different path.” She takes a swig of beer, then picks at the edges of the label with her nails. “Maybe it’s a better path, you don’t know that yet.”

“You’re right, I don’t know that,” he says, setting the guitar aside so he can go get his own beer. He twists the top off and holds the bottle up as he sits back down. “To different paths, wherever they take us,” he says, and Tessa giggles and clinks her bottle against his.

“To different paths,” she repeats, and they both drink.

“So how many tattoos do you have?” Scott asks, feeling bold.

“Technically four, but three of them are pretty big pieces that I kind of had done bit by bit. I’ve got the half sleeve,” she says, holding up her left forearm with a pattern of water ripples and a mermaid whose tails wraps around her wrist, “and I’ve got a kind of–moon goddess, I guess, on my right thigh. Then there’s my Mucha girl on my right shoulder.” She pauses to take another sip of beer. “The other one is just text, I think my back is going to be my next big investment.”

“What does the text one say?” His curiosity has been piqued. Tessa studies him for a moment, then sets her beer down on the floor and lifts the right side of her shirt just enough that he can see the words on her ribs. “God damn it, you’ve got to be kind,” he reads out loud. “Wow, what’s that from?”

“It’s a Vonnegut quote,” she explains. “I got it as a reminder–not just to be kind to others, but to be kind to myself.” She shrugs and picks her beer up. “I had a lot of body image issues when I was younger.”

It’s hard for him to imagine Tessa being anything but confident. “That must have been hard,” he says, wanting to compliment her but knowing that’s not what she needs.

“It was rough for a while,” she admits. “But I finally realized I’m so much more than just my packaging.”

Scott studies her for a minute, wonders if it’s the beer or the lights making her glow or if he really is that infatuated with her, eventually deciding it’s the latter. He finishes the last bit of his beer and sets the bottle to the side so he can pick up the guitar again.

Her eyes are questioning as he starts playing a song about all his dreams coming true, but there’s no mistaking it when he gets to the chorus. “Thought I was doing well, I took a leap but then I fell, when she caught me I was at my lowest low,” he sings, and he can’t bear to look at her. “The look in those green eyes, it made me realize that I need to give her more than just a show...and what she’s done for me she’ll never know.”

His heart is pounding as he finishes and when he finally dares to look up, she’s staring him down with the same eyes he’d just been singing about. “Did you write that about me?” she asks, her voice quavering, and all he can do is nod. 

“I, um. I wrote it  _ for _ you,” he clarifies, “because sometimes I don’t think you give yourself enough credit either.”

She’s still staring him down, and oh god, what if she  _ hates _ it, his heart is racing in his chest and he’s rethinking every ridiculous life choice that led him here but finally she speaks. “No one’s ever written me a song before,” she says, and leans over and kisses him.

Before Scott can fully process what is happening she pulls back and he almost falls forward onto his face. “Are you okay?” he asks with concern as he sets the guitar aside.

“No! I mean, yes, I’m okay, but I should be asking you if you’re okay,” Tessa blurts out, flustered. “I mean...I should have asked you if that’s okay.”

“Oh, no, yeah, it’s great,” he stammers. “It’s okay for you to kiss me.”

“Okay. Good,” she says, and then leans in to kiss him again.

He slides one arm around her waist and pulls her close, his other hand is in her hair and caressing her cheek and her skin is so  _ soft _ , he just wants to let his hands wander over her forever. She leans into him, her hands on his back and gripping his shoulders and running over his chest.

“I really thought you hated me,” Scott murmurs as he pulls away slightly.

“That’s when I thought you were just gonna turn out to be a dick,” she whispers back, and he laughs breathlessly.

“I’m glad you don’t think that,” he says, then presses his mouth to hers again. The way she kisses is making him hazy, and she nips gently at his bottom lip, making him moan softly. 

It’s her turn to break the kiss. “You’re not a dick at all,” she whispers, touching her forehead to his. “You’ve actually turned out to be kind of amazing.”

He smiles, and reaches up to stroke her cheek with his thumb. “You bring out the best in me.”

They sit like that for several quiet moments, the silence between them no longer awkward and heavy, but electrified with something new. Scott cups her chin to tilt her head back, and this time when they kiss it’s deeper, more urgent. Tessa parts her lips slightly and he slides his tongue against hers, savoring the small keening sound she makes in the back of her throat. She leans into him again, pushing him backwards until she’s half on top of him and he’s got her cradled in his arms.

Scott runs a hand just under her shirt so his fingertips rest of the bare skin at the small of her back, and Tessa sighs. “Is that all right?” he asks. “Too fast?”

“No,” she murmurs against his mouth. “Not too fast.” Emboldened by her words, he slowly runs his fingers up and down her spine, enjoying the small shiver it elicits. She’s slid one of her legs between his, and he can feel himself getting hard as she grinds on his thigh to the rhythm of his hand moving up and down her back, when suddenly she stops. “Um,” she says, sitting up, “hold that thought, I’ll be right back.”

Tessa bounds out of his room and Scott stares at his ceiling, his erection at half mast, wondering what she could possibly be doing when she comes running back into the room holding a couple of little foil packets. “What are–” Scott starts, then realizes she’s holding condoms.

“We don’t have to,” she says quickly, “it’s just in case, I mean, I don’t know if you have any and I didn’t want to have to go rushing downstairs in my underwear if it gets to that point–what?”

Scott is shaking his head and laughing. “Nothing, no, I guess I’m just glad you’re prepared?” And, if he’s being honest, thrilled at the prospect of her thinking things were moving in that direction. “C’mere,” he says, and she tosses the condoms onto the bedside table and lies down next to him.

This time he’s half on top of her, kissing her like his life depends on it, her small moans and noises of wanting spurring him on and making him harder. “We don’t have to,” she repeats, “if you don’t want to,” and Scott chuckles to himself.

“Tess,” he says, “I’m not sure if you noticed, but...I definitely want to.” He punctuates his sentence by pressing his cock against her leg, and she closes her eyes. “Do you?”

“Yes,” she chokes out. “I very much want to.”

It’s all the encouragement he needs to go back to kissing her, touching her, letting his hands roam over her body and listening to her jagged breathing to tell him where to go. She slides her hands under his shirt, lightly raking her nails down his back and raising goosebumps on his skin.

Scott isn’t sure what he did so right to deserve this, and he’s determined to enjoy every moment of it, making him move at a slower pace than usual. First he lets her pull his shirt up and over his head, and he slides it down off his arms, flinging it across the room. She runs her hands down his bare chest and he shivers at the contact. 

He’s almost reverent as he slides Tessa’s tank top up her torso, delighting in the discovery that she’s not wearing a bra. She finishes removing it and that too gets discarded. He kisses her mouth, her neck, the delicate skin between her breasts, all the way down to her navel, where he pauses for a moment to gently suck her belly button ring into his mouth and hearing her gasp. 

The top button of her jeans is right there, and he could undo her pants to slide them off but instead he kisses his way back up her body to nibble lightly at her neck, where he’s rewarded with another gasp and the arching of her back. Scott makes a mental note of that before rolling her to her side to face him and capturing her mouth again.

He slides his hand up her side to cup a breast, sliding his thumb over her nipple and her breath catches, she slings her leg over his to draw him closer and they find a slow, delicious rhythm as he gently tweaks her nipple between his fingers, runs his hand down her back, finally coming to rest on her ass so he can pull her against him as they move together.

Tessa puts a hand on his shoulder and slowly pushes him to the mattress until he’s on his back, where she hovers above him for a moment before planting her own trail of kisses down his neck and chest until her mouth stops just above the waistline of his jeans. Everything in him wants to urge her to continue but he forces himself to lie still, his breathing labored, his cock straining against unyielding denim.

She stays there for long enough that he looks down, concerned. “You don’t have to–I mean, we can stop,” he tells her, but she shakes her head with a small smile.

“I don’t want to stop, I was just enjoying your reaction,” she says, and he grins.

“God, you’re trouble,” he tells her as her hands make quick work of his belt and top button. She unzips his jeans and hooks her fingers over the top of his boxers to carefully slide the garments down over his hips, and he springs free.

“I’m trouble, huh?” she asks, pulling his pants the rest of the way off and wrapping a hand around him, and he gasps and closes his eyes.

“You’re the best kind of trouble,” he chokes out, and she settles herself back on the bed beside him, her hand moving in slow, steady strokes. “Tess–you can’t–”

She pauses. “I can’t what?” she asks.

He resists the urge to thrust into her hand. “It’s just been a while,” he explains, his breath ragged, “and if you keep doing that, it’s–it’s gonna be over real quick.”

Understanding dawns on her face. “Oh,” she says, letting go and making him groan. “Then...I guess you better get the rest of my clothes off, hmm?”

It’s all the invitation he needs to roll back over her and trail his tongue over her stomach as he undoes her pants, sitting up to pull them off her until she’s completely naked beneath him. This time he stops, taking in the sight of her stretched across the sheets, his intense need to be inside her tempered by his desire to burn the image of her body into his memory.

“You are so damn beautiful, Tess,” he says, and she blushes, the color spreading across her cheeks and chest. He reaches out and traces a finger along the words inked across her ribs, trails it down between her legs, spreads her open just a little to feel how wet she already is and she moans, her hips rising off the mattress.

Tugging her closest leg across him, Scott settles into the space between her thighs, drawing himself back so he can bring his head down to rub his tongue against the hood of her clit and he hears her gasp. “Yes,  _ please,” _ she breathes, and a thrill runs through him. He starts slowly, running his tongue along her folds, dipping it inside her, taking in every sound she makes and letting it guide him. 

She threads her fingers through his hair, pulling his mouth against her and he speeds up his rhythm, sliding one finger inside her, then another, licking and sucking and flicking his tongue across her clit and suddenly he hears her gasp, feels her arch off the bed and she tightens and then relaxes around him. “Stop,” she pants, and he does immediately, sitting back and feeling more than a little satisfied with himself.

“Was that all right?” he asks, lying back down beside her and propping his head up so he can see the contented expression on her face.

“No one’s ever gotten me off like that before,” she confesses, and Scott feels offended on her behalf.

“Never? Tess, that’s just criminal,” he says, running a hand along her thigh. “I could do that all night.”

“Well, I don’t want you to do that  _ all _ night,” she says with a devilish smile. “There’s other things I’d like to do with you.”

“Such as?” he asks, but she’s already rolling him to his back and reaching for the foil packets on the nightstand. 

Retrieving a condom, she tears it open and pulls it from the packaging, wraps her other hand around him, strokes him until he’s fully hard again. Straddling him, she rolls the bit of latex along the length of his cock, and Scott has never been more grateful to wear a condom because he thinks if he slid into her bare he’d come immediately.

She positions herself above him carefully, keeping a hand around him and rubbing him against the slick opening between her legs. “Ready?” she asks, and he half smiles, half groans.

“I am very ready,” he manages to breathe out, and she lines up with him and sinks down until he’s completely inside her.

They both still for a moment, adjusting to the feel of each other, and then Tessa begins to move, her hips rising and falling, and Scott has to close his eyes because it’s sensory overload, the look of pleasure on her face and the feel of her around him and the sound of her small moans with every thrust. 

He feels her lean down and her lips are against his again, kissing him as she rolls her hips faster. “Tess,” he pants, “I need…”

“What do you need?” she whispers, and he puts his hands on her waist and pulls her down hard onto him, forcing her to stop moving with a small cry. Slowly he maneuvers her to the side, rolling them over carefully so he can stay inside her as they change position, until finally he’s on top of her.

“This,”  he breathes, “you. Spread out underneath me.” Wordlessly Tessa wraps her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, and he begins to move again, slowly at first, then faster as she urges him on with her legs and her hips and her eyes.

Her body is better than anything he could have imagined, and before he knows it she’s coming again, and the feel of her pulsing around him triggers his own climax and he comes with a small shout. He buries himself inside her completely, his arms wrapped around her, and all he can do is breathe her name into her neck while she gently strokes his back.

“Tess,” he pants. “Jesus  _ Christ _ , Tess.”

She giggles underneath him, and he’s suddenly aware that he’s lying on top of her with the full weight of his body. “Sorry,” he says, still out of breath as he rolls off of her. “Didn’t mean to crush you.”

“You weren’t crushing me,” she tells him. “I liked it.”

They lie next to each other without speaking, and Scott brushes her hair out of her face, traces her jawline with his fingertips, pulls her against his chest so he can kiss the top of her head.

“I need to run to the bathroom,” she says finally, and he releases her from his embrace.

“Sure,” he says. “Um–here.” He hops up from the bed to hand her his previously discarded shirt, then lies back down and grabs a tissue to dispose of the condom while she’s gone. He’s on his side feeling more than a little sleepy when she returns, crawling onto the bed and curling around him so her arm is across his chest and her face is in the small of his neck. He threads his fingers through hers and brings her hand up to his face to press a kiss to her knuckles, and feels her smile against his skin.

Scott isn’t sure when he falls asleep but when he wakes up a few hours later, the sun already peeking through his window, she’s still there. 

_ I could get used to this, _ he thinks to himself, before falling back to sleep in Tessa’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song featured: I'll Stand By You, by The Pretenders
> 
> Many, MANY thanks to the ladies of the Writer's Guild for all their encouragement and help!


End file.
